Teacher trouble

The teachers I have this semester are fine; relax. Yesterday was the school Open House for the parents to meet the teachers (and for some of the parents to drag their children along even though they had no reason to be there). My dad had a word with Ms. Vazquez, my AP European History teacher. I’ve had her before, and I’ve said things about her to my parents that maybe I shouldn’t have said, or maybe she shouldn’t have said/done in the first place. Anyway, when I asked her about it today, she said it was private and then that it was nothing really.

If I’m having trouble with any teachers, it’s with several that I don’t have.

A few days ago, my programming teacher from last year, Mr. Mumtaz, Googled himself (?) to find an old post I wrote about him in which I mused about his strange ways. Through my sister, who has his class currently, he made death threats, etc. (You think I’m kidding? This man still has a bizarre sense of humor!) He finally found me at lunch today. He told me that he had read “Mumtaztic Challenge” (the post in question) and that it was funny. It’s the only time I’ve ever heard him say “Mumtaztic,” which is like his catchphrase.

As you may recall, I made a tough decision when choosing my classes for this year: it was between AP European History and AP Psychology. Both were to be taught by teachers that I had already had, and so each pleaded for me to take their class. Ultimately, as you could have guessed, I opted for European History, but it was a difficult choice.

But last week Mr. Firestone, who teaches AP Psychology, and whom I had had for regular psychology (and geography), approached me. “It’s BS that you’re not in my AP Psychology class,” he said. “I look at the list and your name’s not there.” He asked about my schedule for next semester. I have Programming II first period, and AP Euro second. Due to our respective schedules, he could only theoretically have me switched out of programming in favor of AP Psych, and that he said he did. I’d like to see if it was only a recommendation or what. Besides, if I take AP Psych I’ll miss out on Programming II with all my friends from Programming I, and then I’ll have to take the class next year (and hopefully they won’t give me Programming II and III in the same semester).

On a not really similar note, yesterday in Spanish class this kid came up to me saying stuff like, “You’re really smart” or “Are you really smart?” (One of those.) And I say, “Well…” and maybe someone’s like, “Yeah, he’s really smart, he gets all A’s.” But then he says something that I’ll never forget. His tone of voice changes to one of awe as he manages to say, “Don’t they call you T.J.?” Of course, I am not T.J. Swannick, who was allegedly ranked #1 in the class last year. I even met him once, but I forget how or when. But I thought that was funny. I should have stroked my chin coolly and said, “Why yes, yes they do.”

Ever had trouble trying to e-mail very large files? Try YouSendIt. I haven’t, but it might work.

I’d like to say thank you on behalf of the group and ourselves, and I hope we passed the audition

Today my band, VRT, played probably our last gig. As described before, the band has too many problems to continue to play live. It’s a tough situation, and it just doesn’t work. I’ve already gone into detail with that.

Of course, all five of us were supposed to be there. Alex, the bassist, said that he would try to get time off work to go. Sean had said that if Alex wouldn’t play, then he wouldn’t play either, because we would sound too bad. (Though I can’t imagine how playing without him would make us sound any better.) This morning, Sean called me to ask what time we were going to play, and we discussed microphones and microphone stands, which he had said he would bring. Then Alex dropped the bad news on Sean and then me.

The odds were good, then, that Sean wouldn’t show up at all, even though he could. And he didn’t. Someone who I explained the situation to said that he probably wagered his unwillingness to play live on Alex’s unreliability. I think Sean doesn’t like to play live because he doesn’t like the songs we play. He invariably describes our songs as old people music and stuff. I saw a lot of people our age or younger watching today, though.

On one hand, I can understand Sean’s frustration — we’re extremely slow to learn new songs — because he has a certain image of what the band should be, and I do agree that we should play newer music. On the other hand, I don’t think that refusing to play was a good solution, and we suffered because of it.

As for the gig itself, it was pretty good considering the circumstances. Our original set was to be:

But seeing as neither I nor Nick, the other guitarist, could play the lead part in “Birthday,” we decided to drop that song. I think it was Mark, our drummer, who suggested “Secret Agent Man,” which is a favorite at our practices. (“Dizzy Miss Lizzy” was also a favorite at our practices before we dropped it into our set at the last minute before a gig.) With that change and some shuffling, the actual set was:

“Secret Agent Man” was pretty good considering we hadn’t really practiced it much. “Seven Nation Army” could have been better, but it was still good. I finally got the words right (more or less). “A Place Called Heaven” is a song I wrote (one thing I’ve never told you is that I write songs). I’ve always tried to get the band to play it, but they’re never interested. So I played it myself. In “Dizzy Miss Lizzy” I had to take Sean’s place playing the neverending lead guitar riff. I did pretty bad with that, and Nick didn’t have the chords down too much. We decided to end with “Yellow Submarine” because that was the first song we ever played and the one we’re best known for.

I’ve often recorded parts of band practices on tape, but this was the first live performance I’d ever attempted to record. (I didn’t think it would be possible because the microphone wires are very short.) Even though the mikes I had to use are sometimes faulty, on this occasion they were just fine, although the recording levels were a little too high, leading to some distortion and clipping. But still, I was impressed. My dad helped with the placement of the mikes. I don’t think he could have gotten them better.

Funny… Paul McCartney also recorded the Beatles’ final concert on a portable tape recorder for posterity.

Well, as I’ve said, we’re not breaking up now, but this is the end of a chapter in our longish history as a band. So I guess another chapter is only beginning…

What am I doing here?

As I was reading the latest school yearbook I noticed how many various clubs and sports there are. Endless after-school activities, and some people are in more than one. They range from tiny groups like International Affairs (4 members) to Drama Club (so many people that the names of the members aren’t listed). And don’t forget the various sports: football (varsity and junior varsity), volleyball (varsity and junior varsity), cross country (boys and girls), swimming (boys and girls), golf (boys and girls), basketball (varsity and junior varsity boys and girls), soccer (boys and girls), tennis (boys and girls), cheerleading, baseball (varsity and junior varsity), softball (varsity and junior varsity), track (boys and girls), and flag football. Well, that was last year. They might add one or two.

But me… am I in any clubs? No. Sports? No. National Honor Society? No. Marching band? No. Do I drive? No. Do I date? No. I don’t really have anything like that at all. So how is it that I always feel so busy?

(Rimshot goes here. The following is intended as a separate item, the former a thought in itself.)

Well, I do have one thing that sort of counts as an extracurricular activity: my band. Yes, believe it or not, we’re still around. We started the band (which has a name, but since no one ever likes any name we choose, we usually just call ourselves “the band”) back in 2001 and played our first gig in January 2002. Just for posterity, here’s the complete (?) list of our gigs (dates marked with an asterisk are guesses by me):

January 31, 2002: St. Elizabeth of Hungary school talent show (3 performances)
March 9-10, 2002*: St. Elizabeth of Hungary Spring Festival (2 performances)
May 11, 2002*: St. Malachy fair
November 17, 2002: St. Elizabeth of Hungary parish picnic
January 30, 2003: St. Elizabeth of Hungary school talent show (3 performances)
March 1-2, 2003: St. Elizabeth of Hungary Spring Festival (2 performances)
February 7, 2004: St. Elizabeth of Hungary Spring Festival
August 29, 2004: St. Elizabeth of Hungary Youth Group kick-off barbecue
August 14, 2005: St. Elizabeth of Hungary Youth Group kick-off barbecue

But things have changed between us. When we started the band, we all liked the same music. But now we realize that it’s time to play music that people will actually like. The problem is that it’s hard for everyone to get together (the five of us have only met twice, as far as I can recall), and therefore it’s hard for us to pick up new songs, especially ones that everyone will want to play. When some of us do play together, I feel that the magic isn’t there anymore. Maybe it’s just that we’re not as young and crazy. I’d rather listen to tapes we recorded three or four years ago than what we recorded last Sunday. There’s more energy and vitality in those old tapes.

When the members of a band rarely all get together, there are bound to be misunderstandings. I’m not sure, but maybe the others resent my de facto leadership of the band — after all, I’m the one who calls the practices, so if there aren’t any practices, it’s due to my own forgetting. But I applaud Sean for keeping my head from getting too big; he works to keep my “leadership” in check, and we’re all the better for it. But I also think Alex resents Mark, who almost replaced him without his knowledge. If Alex leaves the band (by force or otherwise), Sean will go too. This isn’t really relevant to what I’m saying.

Whenever we do play, we play old people music. Sean always expresses his dissatisfaction concerning this. He thinks that, owing to the fact that we’re all so different, we’ll never turn ourselves around and play real music. I’ve tried to be more optimistic, but he’s right. It’s too difficult. After four years, we can only play about four songs.

So anyway, I think we’ve mutually agreed that it’s time to put the band to rest, at least as a group that performs live. Although it pains me to see us go, I know we’ll still be friends, and it would be more painful to anguish over our state of affairs as a band headed nowhere. We’re not much more than a bunch of friends who get together to jam, so that we should remain. There’s no reason, after all, that we should cease playing together entirely, especially because we are friends.

So I think our next gig (which is Sunday if you didn’t read the list) will be our last. But to use my heroes, the Beatles, as an analogy (and that’s why my music and I are stuck in the past), they produced their finest works (including Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, the White Album, and Abbey Road) after they quit playing live. Of course, they’re not us, and so we probably cannot be compared. But that’s what I happen to think of.

But even after quitting touring, they did make another impromptu performance (on a London rooftop) before breaking up. So you never know about the future. In short, this is not the end of the band as we know it. We will certainly keep getting together (although without the goal of learning a song by a certain date). And who knows? We may come out of semi-retirement to dazzle… someone… once more. We’ll have to see.

Read about the J-Walk Blog Link Experiment. It should be a good experiment and a cheap method of cross-promotion. And it should be the second time I’ve been linked to by J-Walk.

Logan Whitehurst tells us How to Be Cool… just in case you ever wondered. It’s worth a read.

Book of the year

Today in one of my classes I saw someone had what appeared to be the new (2004-2005) yearbook. At lunch I decided to check it out. There indeed was a table with a couple of seniors and a box of yearbooks. I handed them my receipt from when I ordered it toward the beginning of last year, and I got a yearbook.

That’s the way it works at my school. Usually yearbooks go to press around January or February so they can be received when school ends in May or June. Our yearbook comes a little late, but it shows spring sports, prom, graduation, and other late-year things that most yearbooks would have to miss.

Most surprisingly, I’ve heard no announcement that they were being distributed. I guess you just have to see the table there or have someone show you their yearbook as you stare in disbelief.

At the end of my freshman year, they passed out a sort of booklet for people to collect signatures and stuff, in lieu of having a yearbook delivered at the end of the year. So I’ve tucked that booklet into my freshman yearbook, which I received at the beginning of my sophomore year. But several months ago, at the end of that year, no such booklet was passed out. So for that year I am lacking signatures of anyone.

But I find that I care less and less. I also care less about the yearbook itself. I don’t know why. I guess it’s just a natural tendency, as you get older, not to give a care about the yearbook.

On the first day of school, my friend Justin, whom I met in Programming class last year, proposed an idea for a computer game: a spoof of The Oregon Trail. Now listen to me, I don’t care if it’s already been done — it probably has — but just imagine the idea. Instead of boring things like diseases, crossing rivers, etc., we want to throw in hazards such as uprisings, ninjas, and just about any other outrageous thing you could think of. I thought of a name: “The Oregano Trail.” Our friend Gilbert says he’ll help too. It should be a lot of fun to work on.

Believe it or not, The Oregon Trail was a game I actually played back in my day, so I have an appreciation for it. I don’t really remember it much, but I did play it, probably when we were on Windows 3.11. As a random aside, some other really old programs I used to use were Dr. Halo 3 (a graphics program), Bannermania (a good use for computer paper), someone’s version of Pong, Virtual Pool (3D graphics! My dad still has the CD lying around), Wacky Wheels (a racing game), and something with a beach.

Hear a weird conversation at work? Submit it to Overheard in the Office. Between the time I found this link and the time I’m posting it (which is now), I designed them a logo:

That’s my silhouette (well, it’s supposed to be a shadow) on the left, and my sister’s friend’s silhouette on the right. She agreed to pose for the photo on the day we were making butterbeer. The corkboard is in my room. The sheet of paper toward the top was one I happened to have a scan of on the computer. On the left, I hung those blank sheets of paper (the yellow Post-It note is actually just white paper cut into a square) so that the logo would go there. I stole the picture of the water cooler from some site.

Eh, not so bad

The first day of school wasn’t so bad. I tried not to be all nervous and stuff, and I think it worked.

First block (period), as you may recall, is Spanish III. It turns out I finally got the good teacher this year: Ms. Bourns, the one who everyone likes. I had gotten the two not-so-good teachers the past two years. I thought they were both okay, but other people didn’t. After studying Esperanto, Spanish is so… awkward-sounding and exception-laden. There are so many stem-changing (sort of semi-irregular) verbs. I like not having to conjugate verbs at all. But all I have to do is plow through the class, and I’ll never have to take Spanish again.

Second block was the fabled European History class I had been fretting so much about. The teacher was absent today — a death in the family, it was said — but she left work for us to do. We had to write about (a) what we want to learn in the class, and (2) major problems in the world today. Six paragraphs each. I knocked it down in the better part of an hour, and then reread Chapter 1 because I think we were supposed to when we were done.

Then I had lunch. I missed having lunch between the four classes of the day instead of having it in the middle of the third. Most of my friends are there, so it’s good.

Third block was Chemistry Honors. I ended up with the same science teacher I had two years ago. She’s pretty nice, so that should be okay. She’s the only teacher who assigned homework today, and I finished it during class.

Finally, for fourth block was English III Honors. Of all my classes, I had given this one the least thought. In fact, I just had a dream that my fourth block was a free period (ha!). The teacher, Ms. Owens, seems pretty cool, and most importantly, she realizes that we have a life, so she says she won’t give too much homework. Forty-eight cool points to Ms. Owens.

So I wasn’t really that nervous. There are quite a few people I know in each of my classes, including Nick, who I haven’t had a single class with in two years, in my first block. I guess the second day can only be better. But I can’t believe I live on such a crazy schedule: early to bed, early to rise, Monday through Thursday; slightly later on the other days. And it’s like that for week after week, month after month.

Speaking of which, a few days ago I put a countdown to next summer vacation at the bottom of every page. It counts down to May 25, 2006, at 13:00 (1:00 P.M.) EDT (that’s usually the time we get out on the last day of school, but it’s speculation). Man, have we got a long way to go.

What are the frequencies of telephone tones? I know, what a nerdy question. But I didn’t ask it. That page I just linked to does, and it answers it also. I had no idea there were so many different tones. Well, according to the page, “many of these telephone tones are no longer used and are included here only for historical accuracy.”

Get me a ginger ale

Today is the last day of summer vacation. Tomorrow is another first day of school at Pompano High. I should be cool with it by now, shouldn’t I? After all, it will be my third year. (Yeah, they grow up so fast.) Apparently some people aren’t as nervous as I am. But come on, it’s the first day of school!

You find out what teachers you have — they can’t be evil, you know — they tell you what to expect of the class, remind you of the rules, which seem no longer to be in force by November, and tell you what supplies you need, so you know exactly what size binder to buy that evening at Office Depot and how many dividers should be in it.

Maybe I’m just chronically nervous. Maybe I just worry too much. I feel uneasy, like I did for weeks at the beginning of the last semester. That was because of my World History class; eventually I only felt sick during that class and before.

Now I have the same teacher for European History, and it’s two semesters of fun. Let’s see here: 110 minutes a day x 4 days a week x 18 weeks per semester x 2 semesters equals 15,840 minutes, or 264 hours, or exactly 11 days. Maybe I could just take a long vacation and prop my eyes open for 11 days while I listen to her lecturing. She sometimes has funny lectures.

I’m nervous for another reason also. Over summer vacation you quickly forget how to be a student. But when you come back, it quickly returns as well. And then you do homework. And, depending on your classes, you do lots more homework. And it’s sickening, really.

It’s also depressing having to go to bed and wake up early. Sometimes during the school year I don’t have much free time by the time I get tired. Then when I wake up, it’s way too early. I guess it’s good that we have Fridays off, though. But still.

So what should you, as a reader of this blog, expect? I advise you to expect nothing, so that you’ll never be disappointed. Well, I’ll probably be posting far less often than I’ve been doing during the summer or even during the last school year. But I won’t let this school thing get to me. I’ll try, anyway.

Anyway, I had a band practice today — we have a gig next week — and everybody was supposed to come. But not everybody did. Still, we should end up being okay if we run through everything before the show. And if everybody shows up.

When in doubt, Ask Jordon!

Daniel: Where do you keep all the slogans that randomly appear at the top of your site? I would like to look at a list of them.

Sorry, I’d rather keep you guessing about how many there are. (Actually, one of the slogans tells you the answer.) Besides, I don’t have a really handy or organized list.

Todd: I have a 1994 twenty dollar bill with part of the front of the bill printed on the back…is this worth anything beyond 20 dollars?

If you have a reversed “ghost image” of the front side showing through the back, that is called an offset or wet ink transfer error. If the front of the bill was printed while the back was partially folded over it, that is called something else. Both have value to collectors. By the way, check Series year on the bill again; none are dated 1994 (unless you’re talking about Canadian money, which I know nothing about. No matter what country your bill is from, it will carry a premium, especially if it’s in good shape).

And now, a trio of Google-related links:

The purpose of Google Will Eat Itself is to buy Google using its own money. The site hosts Google AdSense ads, and when GWEI gets a check from Google, they automatically buy shares of the company. Sounds like a fun idea, but I doubt AdSense will ever earn them that much money.

How to get a good PageRank. Seems pretty tough.

Can’t find something on Google? Post it to Can’t Find on Google. Or maybe you can help people with things they can’t find.

Schedules

The other day my schedules for next year finally appeared online. Here they are in all their glory.

1st semester:
Spanish III
AP European History
Chemistry Honors
English Honors III

2nd semester:
Programming II
AP European History
Pre-Calculus
American History Honors

Believe it or not, this is the schedule I wanted and this is the schedule I got. Okay, I would have preferred to have Programming in the first semester and English and Spanish in the second, but at least it’s correct. Yes, even AP Euro is supposed to be there.

As for the saga involving that class, I’m not really sure of the official story because there was so much flip-flopping going on in my head. I guess I originally decided not to take it:

April 12: “My history teacher wants me in her AP European History class and has recommended me for it. NO!!!!!! I WILL NEVER, NEVER EVER HAVE A CLASS WITH HER AGAIN!!!!!!!!” [emphasis in original]
April 18: “There’s no way I’d go into AP European History even if you’d given me a million dollars and a pony.”
April 20: “Also my history teacher recommended me for … AP European History …. You and I and she know(s) that I don’t want to take that class.”

So I was recommended for the class, which presumably meant I was going to take it. I objected to this, but then my mind started to change:

April 22: “… another guidance counselor … said that I needed to have my changes in course requests in writing, signed by my teacher …. She signed it and told me I was making a mistake. The words kept haunting me: ‘You’re making a mistake.’”

Apparently I never got around to saying that I did change my schedule to ensure that it would include AP Euro, and that I’ve warmed up to the idea of taking the class. I reason that it will be good for my writing and coping-with-really-hard-classes skills, which will be needed later.

My erstwhile world history teacher and future AP Euro teacher passed out packets of work, to be done over the summer, at the end of last year. Guess what they are? The first four chapters of the book, including lots of questions, places to know, readings, and essays! “Napoleon by Christmas,” she affirms. “I’ve taught this class twice before and it’s never failed.” I started working on the chapters a month ago and I finally finished yesterday. It’s good to have that load off my back. Now I can relax for the summer’s remaining… three days (counting today).

Actually, I can’t, because I have to finish the summer reading project required of all students. We read a book, then create a “double-entry journal” where we select 25 quotations from the book and offer an explanation for each. When I was going to be a freshman, we had to read “Fahrenheit 451,” a thought-provoking work. I turned it into my English teacher, as we were supposed to do, and it was an easy 100%. Last year we had to read “Tuesdays with Morrie,” an inspiring story rich in quotable material. Toward the end of the school year, I noticed it had never been collected, and I asked my English teacher about it. She said she didn’t know, and so I still have it (if I didn’t throw it away).

This year they’re serious about the book, “The Bean Trees.” It’s undoubtedly a chick book, one of those mass-market paperbacks you’d find next to the big-font-author mystery novels at the supermarket. It’s about a young woman who grows up with only her mother, manages to have a kid without a man (someone gives it to her), and treks across the country, where she meets new friends, none of which are men except this particularly hunky Latin guy.

I finished reading it in June, but I’ve been putting off doing the quotations. I doubt there are any good ones. This time it will count for our third period class, which is Chemistry for me, and it will be collected right away. Or so they told us. Oh well. Have fun reading Amazon’s lowest rated reviews for the book.

If you like these kinds of puzzles, try Whose Fish?, allegedly (but probably not) written by Einstein himself. There are five people of different nationalities. Each lives in a different-colored house, drinks a different drink, smokes a different cigar, and keeps a different pet. Using the hints given, you have to figure out who owns the fish. If you e-mail them the right answer by Monday, August 8, you might win some CD or something.

My sister and I tried it and it took us nearly an hour. But we managed to figure it out, and I submitted our answer. I hope it’s right. We shall see.

Two years

It’s been a tough question deciding when I actually started to blog. I consider today, August 4, the anniversary of the day I began blogging. I had been posting about updates to the site since it began in April 2003, and in July I asked “To blog or not to blog?” and answered in the negative. But in the next post I declared that “I’ve decided I’m going to go ahead with it anyway. Soon.” The post after that, on August 4, 2003, wasn’t really different from the others, but in it I did refer to the site as “a blog-type thing.” So there you go. August 4, 2003.

You surely have heard about that recently-unveiled Japanese robot that looks oh-so realistic. According to that article, one of the scientists who made it “says one day robots could fool us into believing they are human.”

Oh, those androids. They will improve our lives, the scientists say. They will do the things we don’t want to do ourselves, like… make a sandwich. Or… change the channel when the remote’s broken. We’ll live happily ever after. Right?

We can’t go wasting our time making robots. Eventually, as this guy says, robots will be so realistic that we’ll be hard-pressed to tell them from real humans. And then what? Then we’ll have sacks of sprockets running around masquerading as actual people. What if you take a robot home from the bar? What if a robot runs for President? Don’t we have enough people already?

Worst of all, with more realistic robots come smarter robots. The robots of ten years ago can hardly compare to today’s android. Imagine how intelligent robots will be in 2015. And 2025. And 2035. Eventually, we’re going to make them smarter than ourselves, or at least able to become so.

What I’m getting at here is that by wasting our time with this robot stuff, we’re basically planning the demise of humankind. Eventually the robots will take over, kill us all, and multiply. And I can’t be the only one who believes this.

What part of Ask Jordon don’t you understand?

Tom: My new house in Buffalo is almost done being built and we need help moving. Can I count you in?

Umm… sure. As long as you let me live in the basement. That would be fun. We don’t have them here. Four cool points to basements.

debbie: what is the name of the airport in jordon

What do you think Ask Jordon is? Do you think you’re asking questions to an entire Middle Eastern country? Why don’t you just Google it? I’m sure there’s more than one airport in the nation of Jordan, anyway.

Years ago, I remember watching “Figure It Out,” a sort of game show where panelists had to guess a person’s talent by receiving various clues. One boy that I particularly remember was able to give the day of the week for any given date. I always wondered how he did that.

Then I found this site with a mathematical formula for determining the day of the week for a given Gregorian date. Last month, when I first found the site, I just barely managed to succeed in memorizing the formula. (Hey, I needed something to do while we were waiting in line for Dueling Dragons.) I also wrote a computer program that uses it. But I’ll have to re-commit the formula to memory and practice my mental math, because it sure is a killer party trick.

More wings and crackers

Today I continue retelling my adventures of the trip I went on with my family to my aunt’s house over the weekend. (Here’s part one.)

Day three was Sunday. We weren’t in a hurry to wake up, which was good, I suppose. But it was just then that I was getting more used to waking up early. At about noon we headed off to “the river,” which, I believe was the beloved Ichetucknee. It took us about a half an hour to drive into Suwannee County to go to an out-of-the-way park called Leroy Brown Park. Firstly, I had been to many public parks before, but this was the first private park I had ever seen. My aunt’s significant other, Tom, had a key to open the gate. Secondly, I wondered if this park could be named after that Mr. Brown of the bad, bad variety. But I doubt it.

Anyway, we got in, and it was a nice little secluded place on the river. There was some mangrove action going on, I think, and there was a dock that led from the shore, through the mangroves, to the river. The water level seemed rather high and as we walked down the dock, it got deeper till it was over our ankles. At the end of the dock was a small area with benches and a submerged staircase led to — the river? Well, it wasn’t supposed to; there seemed to be a lower level, but it was all underwater. My aunt said this was a good day; the last time they went, everything was underwater.

Anyway, the water was extremely cold, and I was hungry, so I decided to have a little bite to eat. The main course was cold leftover chicken wings, but I had potato chips, Chex Mix, and grapes — anything to escape the ubiquitous wings. Meanwhile, I had to guard the food from our dog Speck, who we brought along. He’s afraid of water, so he was just fine standing on the bench. If we tried to lower him into the water, he would get all jumpy and his webbed paws would spread out in anticipation.

My aunt brought a kayak — she likes to kayak — and so I decided to take it out for a little spin. We all did, I think. Kayaking is easy and fun. It’s also a good workout for a person like me because it makes no use of your legs. It’s a shame there aren’t any rivers to kayak in around here, only canals. Across the street from my house is an extremely small park, and from it I could probably launch a kayak into the canal, which at that point widens into a sort of lake and has sloping banks. It’s not one of those narrow concrete-seawall garbage-filled canals. Looking at satellite photos of my neighborhood, I think the canal serves no purpose at all, because it just seems to hit two dead ends. It’s just here to look pretty. (Note to self: look into kayaks.)

Anyway, I had a ‘yak attack and made a few rounds around the immediate area within sight of the dock. I went to check out some trees. Only just now do I realize how extremely strange it was to see trees growing in the middle of the river. They had wooden structures around them; apparently when the river level is (or was) much lower, you could walk on them or something.

Later I wanted to see if Speck would go into the ankle-deep water of the dock naturally. I carried him to the beginning, where it was dry. I prodded him along, and he willingly walked as the water got deeper. Eventually he made to the end with no objections and was standing around like the rest of us. We were all very surprised. Even I was surprised, because I thought he’d stop halfway through or something. Then we got him to stand on the kayak while my dad took it around. He seemed really shaky on it, but he didn’t fall in or even try to get out. We were proud.

Then when my dad went out on the kayak sans the dog, he said he saw a manatee. So I went over to where he went to check it out. I couldn’t see one, but I decided to go in the other direction, where it was much more peaceful (nobody was there). I had naively asked, “How do you know a manatee when you see one?” It’s not like I had never seen one before — they have them at aquariums and stuff — but I’d never seen one in the wild. So here I was patrolling the still waters, when, in the dark water, a large, light, rounded shape caught my eye. I stopped.

I hovered near it for a short time, watching intently. It seemed to be poking around the riverbed. I guess it was munching on grass, which appeared to be abundant in this part of the river. Gradually, the manatee got closer to the surface. It was coming up to get air. I saw a nose break the surface to get breath, and the animal’s back followed as it lowered itself back into the water. Manatees have kind of gross-looking skin. But in all, they’re quite nice. I hung around a little while longer before it drifted out of site. As I kayaked away, I heard it come up for air once more.

Then my sister went in the kayak to go see it, but she couldn’t. And while she was out, the sky got dark and thunder was heard. So we called for her, packed up, and headed out just as it started to rain. A few turns took us to Tom’s place, which was called the Mallard. It was called that because it’s a lot on which his camper — a model called Mallard — sits. It was pretty nice. There was also a clearing where you could do stuff. But he doesn’t go there often, apparently; he lives with my aunt most of the time. The Mallard isn’t hooked up for electricity, so while waiting for the storm, he lit a candle.

After that we went back to Happy Valley, the usual residence, and later for dinner we went to Floyd’s (sound warning), which is apparently the only good restaurant in town. Their slogan is “Two places to eat: home and Floyd’s.” The restaurant has the look of a pseudo-’50s diner, but the music they play is classic rock all around. (In fact, the restaurant is named for Pink Floyd, not any person named Floyd.) Their food is pretty good, but they don’t have a terribly big selection.

Having stuffed myself, I went to sleep shortly after getting home. We got up kind of early to leave Happy Valley. My aunt and Tom had already gone to work. We set out going north because my mom’s cow-orker had asked her to buy her some sausage, and my aunt knew of a good sausage place up the road. So we did that and then went down a rather slow way that took us significantly longer than the way up. But we did get home eventually, at about 4:00 or 5:00, maybe. And that was that.

Hey ladies, why not go out with a geek or nerd? Read why geeks and nerds are worth it. (Reason #5: “They’ve got brains. Come on now, how can intelligence be a bad thing?”)

Wings and crackers

Well, I’m back. Didja miss me? I bet you didn’t even realize I was gone, so exciting is this WordPress magic (thank goodness for being able to change the timestamp on a post).

Anyway, before the barely coherent babbling continues, I shall regale you with stories of my trip to my aunt’s place.

We left on Friday. I was under the impression that we were leaving at 8:00 (A.M.) to arrive at 3:00 (P.M), but actually we were leaving at 3:00 (P.M.) to arrive at 8:00 (P.M). (Just another reason to bring 24-hour time into common use.) That said, I was relieved that I actually had time to get ready. So my grandmother came over, we got our stuff and the dog, and we left.

We took the Turnpike, which, I am convinced, was built for us South Floridians to get to Disney World quickly (only about 3 hours). It begins (or ends) here in South(east) Florida, and cuts through the state to end somewhat past the Orlando area. And let me tell you, if you thought Florida was fun all around, think again. Inland, you can go without seeing a single exit for a half an hour.

Anyway, we finally meandered up to the town High Springs, Florida (just past it, actually). My aunt lives near a street called SE Happy Valley Glen. Hence we call her place Happy Valley. It’s also the residence of my aunt’s special friend, Tom. I call him that here because the two of them have never showed an inkling of being romantically involved, although I’d just assume that they’re taking things (very) slow. (I met Tom when they first moved into Happy Valley three years ago.)

It was indeed around 8:00 when we got there, and I was ferociously hungry. I had realized that the grown-ups were going to have a dinner of chicken wings, cheese and crackers, and shrimp, and I had the option to get fast food instead, but I went with my original decision even though the hunger should have made me act otherwise. It was a very light dinner. Later I slept in a bedroom that I think I’ve never slept in. My dad got the bed, and I, as always, got stuck with the air mattress, which was more uncomfortable than usual. (Someone need to come up with a mattress that feels good to lie on and is classier than those that they hawk on TV.)

The next morning we all got up and stuff. Tom decided that he would mow the lawn, but the rest of us headed into town (Gainesville, that is) to see the/a natural history museum on the campus of the University of Florida. They had a sort of butterfly-type garden where you could see butterflies flying around everywhere and stuff. Some were small, some were big, some were bright, dark, old, young, whatever. But there were a whole lot of them. I wasn’t at ease with the whole situation. Butterflies and colleges scare me.

Of course, then “we” (i.e., the grown-ups) decided that “we” should drive around the campus and check things out, and of course “everybody”(my aunt and grandmother, I guess) asked how my sister and I want to spend our lives. Apparently my sister has been thinking about UF (no comments please, read further), and I haven’t really been thinking about anything at all. I have no idea what to do with my life. I thought that maybe after I graduate high school I could just go off into the woods (what woods?) and be self-sufficient.

But right, my comments about colleges. Colleges/universities and the rivalries they create disgust me. They build walls between men where we should be tearing them down. Who cares if you went to this one school and someone else didn’t? Does that make you better than them? Depending on the schools, it might, but come on! Why would it offend you? I know these things are usually treated in a lighthearted manner, but still, it annoys me how people brag about their alma mater as if it’s the greatest thing in the world (or pick one to brag about if they didn’t go to college).

After that we ate lunch at a Mexican restaurant called On the Border (Flash with sound!) Unlike hole-in-the-wall Mexican places, it had the atmosphere of a semi-classy American-style restaurant such as Friday’s (Flash with sound also?!), Chili’s (What? Another site with Flash and music??), Ruby Tuesday (Flash, but silent), and the like (and I guess Applebee’s, which also has a site that uses Flash and sound, but I never really eat there). More importantly, the food was very good, and I’d definitely go there again.

For dinner we went to the Priest Theater, which I had seen and marveled at but had never been to. I mean, come on! They have a chaperone to make sure you’re not making out and stuff. I was convinced that the folks running this one-screen theater in High Springs wouldn’t let me in without a tie. But one I had a good look at their dress code (I had only ever glanced at it when I passed by), it’s fairly lax if you’re not black. No baggy clothes, etc. I was expecting no white tees and gold chains, but they didn’t come to that. The girls’ dress code wasn’t much stricter than the one at school, but it almost made me weep. (Any time a girl can’t exercise her freedom of expression by showing a lot of skin, I cry inside.)

My aunt had bought advance tickets for Batman Begins, the movie that they were showing. (The tickets were those cheap ones that come in a roll. You might see them if you bought a ticket for a cheap raffle or a church carnival or something. Except these tickets had no words on them, only the numbers.) Normally comic book movies bore me to tears, but this one turned out to be pretty good, notwithstanding the poor picture quality and even worse sound of the system of the venue. The theater was rather primitive — that is, it didn’t really have stadium seating — which felt me more like a member of a mob than an individual moviegoer. (Oh, and if you’re curious, a one-screen movie theater plays only the previews for movies it’s going to show. Thus, there was a single preview, for The Dukes of Hazzard.)

When we got home, we had a dinner of leftover wings with cheese and crackers. Actually, I had somebody’s leftovers from lunch. It was really good.

Since this is running pretty long, I’ll continue tomorrow. Let’s move on with Ask Jordon.

Yellow Chicken: Tell us about your favourite airplane experience……

Well, I’ll tell you about my only airplane experience. Actually, I’ll have you read it yourself in this August 2004 post. But of the two times I’ve been on a plane, getting back was certainly more interesting. My dad, my aunt, my grandmother, and I were staying at my great aunt’s house in Pittsburgh when we saw on the news that Hurricane Charley was hitting Florida. Of course, having been gone for some time, we had no idea. We thought the flight might be delayed or canceled, but apparently it wasn’t, so we went to the airport anyway. The pilot said we’d be a few minutes behind schedule because he was going to go around the hurricane, which thankfully was small and not threatening the vicinity of our destination. When we landed, it was a beautiful, calm evening, and you’d never know that we had just passed by a powerful hurricane ravaging the other side of the state.

If you cook, read these kitchen myths. Many things you thought you know about food and cooking just might be untrue. For example, a box of baking soda in a refrigerator does not absorb odors — it’s just a marketing ploy, because why would you actually use baking soda?